The Appeal of Firewhiskey
by malfoyforever
Summary: Eight-year-old Scorpius Malfoy has questions about the world. One of them is, why exactly do adults drink Firewhiskey? Especially the ones in his family. Watch as he tries to resolve this very complex question in his own way. ONESHOT.


**A/N**: This story contains _very_ underage drinking and hints of substance abuse. Don't like, don't read.

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The Appeal of Firewhiskey

It was the perfect plan.

Scorpius had convinced Trinky, a young female house-elf still new to all this child-bearing business, to steal a bottle of Firewhiskey for him. He wasn't going to drink the whole thing, of course. But he planned to pour himself a glass of the stuff.

The eight-year-old had questions about the world, and this was one of them: why was Firewhiskey so appealing to adults? At least the ones in his family.

There wasn't a better way to investigate than drink it himself. Scorpius knew his tutor would be proud. It was a structured approach where he needed to make observations. Mr. MacDouglas liked structure _and_ observation.

So, at eight o'clock that evening, Scorpius sat in his heir's suite and waited. It wasn't long before Trinky arrived. She ducked and looked about furiously, the tips of her ears turning pink, and handed him the tray. "Mister will be careful," she squeaked. "Only one glass, or Missus Astoria will know. Trinky don't wants to be caught, sir. Call Trinky back so she can take away the bottle, sir. Please, sir."

Trinky looked like she was one step away from bawling. Scorpius nodded and assured her that yes, he would do every one of these things. The house-elf bowed, almost tottering in her nervousness, and retired from his suite quickly.

When she had gone, Scorpius moved the glass (it was a real wine glass, one of the fancy ones that Mother and Father used for parties) and the bottle of Firewhiskey onto his night table. He was careful so his hand wouldn't shake as he poured himself the drink. When that was done, he crouched and stared at the transparent liquid from below. He tried to feel calm, but his heartbeat only accelerated further. His hands were sweaty as his fingers curled around the glass. Scorpius tossed the Firewhiskey down his throat in one shot (big mistake) and immediately fought the urge to spit it all out.

It tasted horrid. The liquid burned his throat and his tongue. It was bubbly, like one of those Muggle soft drinks Scorpius had been offered at Teddy Lupin's house. The boy gagged.

"Scorpius?"

Oh, great. The boy grimaced and forced himself to swallow down the rest of the foul liquid before calling back, "Yes, Grandmother?"

He hoped his voice didn't sound too pained.

The door handle turned. Scorpius panicked and looked for a place to hide the glass. His drawer? Under his pillow? No, it might spill. Under his bed? He had a carpet. His fingers were shaking for real now, and his hand sweatier than ever. His grip was beginning to slip. He tried to –

"Scorpius! What was that?"

Scorpius wanted to say, "Nothing, Grandmother, nothing," but there she stood, in the threshold of his bedroom, her hands on her hips and her lips pursued in a tight line. Her eyes swung towards the flushed Scorpius. Then she saw the mess on the floor, and the Firewhiskey that was quickly making a stain on his carpet. Her eyes widened. "Scorpius," Narcissa Malfoy said very, very softly, "Is that _Firewhiskey_ you've spilled there?"

The boy hung his head and bit his lip so he could shut up. The time for being playfully insolent was past.

"What business, for Merlin's sake, do you have with Firewhiskey?" His grandmother's voice was still painfully quiet, but her eyes betrayed her emotions. They were blazing mad, sad, and extremely disappointed at the same time. Scorpius looked down to avoid meeting her piercing gaze. "You're eight years old!"

She swept into his bedroom and took out her wand, pointing it at the mess on the floor and waving it back and forth several times while muttering several incantations. "Better Vanish this," she said, and the bottle and what remained of the wine glass disappeared. The stain on the carpet vanished, too. Next, she turned towards her grandson, her face hardened, and touched his forehead. "Are you dizzy? Do you have a headache? Do you feel nauseous?"

Scorpius kept his eyes downcast. "I'm kinda dizzy," he mumbled.

His grandmother pursued her lips. "Thank goodness your parents aren't here," she said under her breath. She looked at the boy. "You stay here. I'll be back in an instant."

While she was gone, he flopped down onto his bed and squeezed his eyes shut. He felt terrible for letting down Grandmother, and even more so for using Trinky. He hoped that Mother and Father wouldn't find out about this. He didn't want the little elf to be _freed_ because of him.

Merlin, he'd been a right idiot. A really big one.

Narcissa returned with a vial filled with dark liquid and sat beside him on the bed. "Drink this," she ordered, handing it to him. "Only one sip. I trust you've only had one glass?"

Wordlessly, Scorpius nodded. He unstopped the potion and tipped it. He winced. It tasted even worse than Firewhiskey, and that was saying something!

He could feel his grandmother's gaze on him as he wiped his mouth and gritted his teeth. She smiled wryly at him and took back the potion. "That doesn't taste so good, does it?" she said casually in the quiet tone that was driving him mad. She held it up so light flashed through it. "Your grandfather has this whenever he nurses a hangover from too much of the beverage you were drinking. Even then he throws up."

Scorpius wanted to tell her he understood. The guilt was already gnawing at him. He didn't need to listen to her lecture him about drinking.

Her head swivelled towards him. "But you didn't answer my question, when I first surprised you," said Narcissa. "Why were you drinking alcohol at your age?"

Scorpius reddened. "I... I wanted to know... w-why Firewhiskey is so good." He was sure that his head had turned into a tomato when he managed to stutter out his whole explanation.

She considered this and then narrowed her eyes. "Where did you get the idea that Firewhiskey is 'good'?"

That tongue-tied him. He could hardly say that it was his family that inspired him, could he? He would if he was five, but he was three years older now. He had learned about tact. Scorpius shook his head. "Er, I dunno," he mumbled. "Ma'am." He doubted Grandmother would be more lenient if he was polite, but he could always try.

To his surprise, though, the woman began laughing. "You can say it," she managed, and Scorpius gazed at her in shock. "Say it, boy. I suppose it isn't taboo if an eight-year-old has noticed that this family has a little problem with liquor."

"I – I didn't mean that," stammered Scorpius, blushing.

"But you thought it. You're thinking it." Her tone was grave again, and Narcissa crossed her arms. "Do me a favor, Scorpius. Don't touch alcohol ever again if you know what's good for you."

She was looking at him so seriously that the boy turned pink and agreed hastily. They were silent for a minute before Scorpius said in a very small voice, "But why, Grandmother? Why do Father and Grandfather drink?"

Narcissa had stood up and begun walking out of the suite, but her head whipped back with this. She had a small, dry smile as she contemplated her only grandson. "I know you don't like hearing this, but you'll understand when you're older." Scorpius made a face, and this time a smirk appeared on her lined face. Then her mouth was a thin line again. "I won't tell your parents about this, or anyone else. But you have to keep your promise. I don't want to see you drinking until you are over-age, and maybe not even then." She nodded at him and smiled. "It's bedtime soon. Don't go to bed too late, boy."

"Yes, ma'am." Scorpius was nodding vigorously. He watched as the door swung to a close.

A few moments later, it hesitantly creaked and his grandmother poked her head through his suite's doorway. "It's sorrow, you know," she said in a voice that was neither here nor there.

"Huh?" Scorpius lifted his head from the comic book he had been immersed in. "Sorrow?"

"Grief. And regret." She shook her head, her expression serious. "They drink for what they couldn't do. They lost a lot. Not only power. Friends too."

Scorpius nodded, eyes darting back to the comic he was reading. He was tired of discussing this heavy stuff now. He wanted to _laugh_ at the characters' antics, smile before he went to bed. Couldn't adults understand that?

"I know you think I'm being barmy," Narcissa smiled. "But you'll understand someday." There it was again, that condescendence. Scorpius scowled. "Goodnight, boy."

"G'night, Grandmother." He waited until the door had closed. Then he went back to reading the adventures of Harry the Hippogriff and his goofy friends.

That night, as he lay on his back in the dark, trying to fall asleep, he wondered about everything that Grandmother thought he had to learn. He hoped that it was easier than the arithmetic exercises Mr. MacDouglas often made him do.

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